


Blondes Prefer Gentlemen

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Got My Foot Caught in the Door [4]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Courtship is the best ship, Defrosting Ice Queen, Edwardian era, Enemies to Lovers, Epilogue jumps ahead, F/M, Ladykiller In Love, Library Shenanigans, Literary Banter, Marian gets accosted, Marian is worried about gossip, Marian's girlhood bedroom, Missing Scene, Mrs. Paroo is worried Marian will be a Christmas cake, Passion vs Propriety, Pre-Relationship, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Repression, Unpacking emotional baggage, dirty books, gorgeous gowns, rumors and things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: Marian Paroo reflects on the sheer monotony of her life - and grapples with the existential dread that she'll end up dying as a lonely spinster, just like her predecessor. Little does she know what Fate has in mind for her...
Relationships: Harold Hill/Marian Paroo
Series: Got My Foot Caught in the Door [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1383457
Kudos: 3





	1. A Miserable Morning

_Marian might easily have succumbed to a life of quiet desperation had she not had [Henry Madison’s] legacy of books… These books were Marian’s life and the substance of her dreams. Otherwise her days were all uneventfully the same, one after the other; until Miss Brundage died at the age of 68. Avis Brundage died as she had lived the happiest years of her life – at the front desk of the Public Library with her card file in one hand and her long yellow pencil in the other, its date stamp bristling at right angles to the point end. Marian was the logical successor to Miss Brundage, not only because of her natural love for books, but also because she had already begun to take on the spinsterish appearance customarily associated with a Librarian of those days.  
~excerpt from an early character sketch for Marian Paroo (then called Marian Maddy) by Meredith Willson, available online in The Meredith Willson Digital Collection_

_Except for the occasional errand, Marian Paroo’s path through River City had always been one of unending repetition – from home to library in the morning, then home for lunch and to help Mama with chores, then back to the library until late in the evening, then home again. She knew every crack and cranny of the street connecting the two buildings. As she put one foot in front of the other, she sometimes fancied she could see a rut in the pavement – a rut that deepened each time she made the journey, each time another year passed. And she was fated to walk back and forth in that rut until she died.  
~excerpt from Falling In Love by Marianne Greenleaf_

XXX

_July 3, 1912_

If there was one thing that Marian Paroo prided herself on, it was that she couldn’t remember the last time she had wept over her sorry state as a spinster. In fact, after Papa’s death nearly three years before, she hadn’t cried a single tear for anything. Never mind that she hadn’t danced with a boy or giggled with a dear chum over some girlish delight since Cincinnati. Why should these dismal but inexorable facts bother her on this fine, sunny, summer morning? And why should the mere accounting of how long she’d been without friendship or the prospect of romance suddenly make her feel like throwing herself onto her narrow bed and sobbing wretchedly into her pillow?

 _Hysterics are for overwrought teens_ , she firmly reminded herself as she put the finishing touches on her workaday ensemble and inspected her reflection for any imperfections. While the librarian was as diligent in her toilette as she was in any other matter, the process proved unusually difficult this morning, as her eagle-eyed gaze was irritatingly blurred and her lower lip would not stop trembling. Indeed, she somehow failed to notice that the bowtie at her throat was alarmingly askew – when she entered the dining room and took her usual seat at the table, her mother tutted affectionately and straightened her collar.

Swallowing her inclination to snap a rude remark in response to her mother’s well-intentioned grooming – if any of the ladies saw her bowtie so scandalously amiss, it would only fuel the salacious rumors swirling about her – Marian stared at the heaping bowl of oatmeal that was set before her. Normally, she found her breakfast both hearty and comforting, and ate this plain but nourishing fare every day except Sundays. However, on this particular morning, she could only grimace at the mashed oats as her stomach roiled with discomfort.

Naturally, her mother noticed her odd mood. “Are you feeling all right, darling? You look awfully pale!”

Marian wasn’t sure whether she found her mother’s concern consoling or stifling. At least _someone_ noticed her malaise, but she ached for more than just maternal regard. Still, she found a smile and pasted it on her face. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it would have to do. “I feel perfectly fine, Mama. I’m just not very hungry this morning, I suppose. I’ll leave early for the library, which I was meaning to do, anyhow.”

Mrs. Paroo’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm… as long as you’re home for lunch on time. You barely ate anything at dinner last night – I’ll not have my daughter taking ill from eating too little and working too much! And I’ll pack you a little something in case you get hungry before then.”

“I promise I’ll be home at noon sharp,” Marian agreed, relieved that her mother wasn’t putting up more of a fight about her diminished appetite. While she couldn’t feasibly consume more than a fraction of the victuals that were so diligently prepared for her consumption, she dutifully accepted the heaping basket without complaint.

Although it was indeed a beautiful day – the sun was warm, the sky was azure and cloudless, and the humidity was at an agreeably pleasant level – the librarian’s stomach continued to roil as she walked to the library with her usual purposeful, no-nonsense stride. The lovely weather, which should have been a balm to her nerves, only heightened how miserable she felt, as it added insult to injury to see so many dreamy-eyed couples and trilling ladies stroll by her without so much as an amicable greeting.

Perhaps she was coming down with some sort of gastrointestinal illness. It was the most sensible explanation for her digestive discontent, as she had never been the kind of over-delicate Victorian heroine who was given to taking to her bed whenever she experienced slight or even great emotional distress. In truth, Marian was more irked by her malaise than anything else – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so bothered by her dreary station in life. She had lived with the burden of being a spinster for years, and was finally able to accept after her father’s passing that her situation was not going to change. It had been almost a relief to let go of that last, lingering shred of hope, as it seemed somehow fitting that the remaining remnant of her girlish dreams should leave along with Papa when he departed this earth. Because much like her pariah forefathers, she was left to fend for herself in a world that largely despised her.

But she still had her books. And when reality became too bleak even for a woman of her iron will to endure, she allowed herself to indulge in sweet imaginings of a white knight coming to town and sweeping her off her feet with his intelligence, eloquence, and charm – a ruse she continued to cling to despite knowing that such a man was nothing but a chimera of her own lonely invention.

XXX

After Mrs. Shinn washed her hands of the “dirty Persian poetry” in the _Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám_ and flounced off, confident in the style of moral superiority that is so eagerly espoused by the ignorant and ill-educated, Marian was so angry at having been scolded both loudly and publicly by the mayor’s wife that she nearly cracked her stamp in half when she brought it down on the next patron’s book. When the poor girl let out a squeak and swiftly vacated the premises, her pigtails trembling the whole way out the door, the librarian sighed and castigated herself for losing her poise so spectacularly. River City’s elites already considered her a brazen hussy who was not to be trusted – she could _not_ afford to disgruntle the town’s youth, as well! While the adults had closed their minds against her almost as soon as she’d come to town, the children were still open to reason and therefore redeemable. She didn’t mind that they saw her as a stern authority figure who was not to be crossed, as that went with the territory of being a librarian, but if she acquired an additional reputation for unsavory outbursts of temper, then the library would have _no_ patrons, and the Board would use this character defect as an ironclad alibi to oust her from the post they grudgingly granted to honor the terms of Uncle Maddy’s will.

After that exasperating encounter, Marian was too rattled to once again submit herself to her mother’s concerned examination of her person, and despite the humiliating upbraiding she’d received while at her post, the library still remained her refuge and sanctuary. So she closed the building for an interval, took out all the food her mother had packed – she was starting to feel rather faint, and it wouldn’t do to make herself ill – and sent back the empty basket and a note with Davey that something very important had come up for which she would need to remain at the library for the rest of the day. Her mother might grumble when she received this missive, and she would certainly issue a scolding later tonight, but she was not the sort of matron to make an embarrassing scene by coming down to fetch her, so the librarian was assured of the solitude she presently craved.

However, Marian had barely eaten half a sandwich when she recalled that her predecessor Miss Brundage died in the very spot she was standing now. And when she reflected that she was likely to suffer the same exact fate in forty-two years from now, her stomach started churning too much for her to eat another morsel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marian’s “pariah forefathers” is a reference to her Romani ancestry, which was discussed in [Independent Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793454).


	2. An Egregious Evening

_How do people make it look easy  
Are they happy or just good at deceiving?  
I just want a bit of that feeling for myself  
I don’t put the pressure of soulmates  
I just want somebody who knows me  
’Cause every now and then I admit  
I need a little bit of help  
I don't feel like I belong  
Anywhere, where, where, where  
~Gotta Find Where I Belong, ZOMBIES_

_Harold Hill was certainly no white knight. From the moment he followed her home, she knew exactly what he was and what he wanted from her, and she despised him for it. But he also made her cheeks flush, her knees tremble, and the pit of her stomach roil with those dangerous butterflies.  
~The Summer Girl, Marianne Greenleaf_

XXX

Marian’s stomach finally settled down enough for her to eat a proper lunch around three o’clock. Which was perfectly timed, as this tended to be the most monotonous part of the day. The number of patrons at this hour ranged from few to nonexistent, so there was little work for her to do that she hadn’t already completed in her perpetual industriousness. Given that it was the height of summer, the brightness of the sun shining through the wide library windows made her feel both overwarm and soporific. It was all she could do to prevent herself from nodding off where she stood, especially after finishing her mother’s ample spread.

A strawberry phosphate would have been just the thing to cool her down and perk her up. Marian dearly craved this confection right now, even though she was full to the point of bursting. But she had no one to watch the library in her stead, and it would be terribly irresponsible for the town librarian to take an unscheduled jaunt to the Candy Kitchen in the middle of a weekday. As the River City-ziens already believed she obtained her position as a dubious sinecure, she didn’t need any more rumors circulating about lightness of character!

Perhaps she could have a strawberry phosphate after supper. But no, Amaryllis had a piano lesson tonight that she really ought to be there for, and the Candy Kitchen would be closed by the time it was over. With a resigned sigh, the librarian took out her handkerchief and dabbed in a ladylike manner at the beads of perspiration pooling on her forehead and in the hollow of her throat. She was well used to being deprived of things she wanted, so it was pointless to get worked up over her inability to indulge in what was essentially a glass of dyed, sweetened, and carbonated water. Still, her frustration at being denied this trifle persisted, and as her starched collar rubbed irritatingly against the nape of her neck, dreams of exchanging her workaday ensemble for a cool bath and a billowy nightgown mingled with her acute desire for a phosphate.

Still, Marian persevered as she always did, and made it all the way to eight o’clock without incident. The patrons picked up again in the early evening, so she had little time to ruminate, which was exactly the way she liked things to be. If she was indeed fated to keel over at the front desk sometime in the next four decades, she’d rather be occupied by thoughts other than her own unhappiness. For when she wasn’t lamenting her lonely state as a spinster, she despaired of her little brother’s growing silence.

There were whole days that went by without Winthrop saying a single word, and she and Mama had long ago run of schemes to draw him out of his shell. Only Papa had any success in doing that, and he’d been gone for years. As a woman, Marian could at least take solace in their mother, especially whenever she experienced a female complaint. But Mrs. Paroo was dead set against remarrying (which the librarian was secretly and selfishly glad about, as no man could ever hold a candle to her dear Papa). However, from a starkly pragmatic perspective, this meant that Winthrop would be a fatherless boy for the remainder of his childhood. Being alone in the world, the Paroo ladies didn’t have so much as a trusted uncle or family friend they could prevail upon to reveal the mysteries of masculinity to Winthrop, and so the librarian had no idea how she and her mother were going to manage the increasingly recalcitrant boy as he approached adolescence.

When closing time neared and the activity at the library once again dwindled to vacuum-quiet, Marian found herself falling into these glum reflections once more. Fortunately, she was no longer trapped in this living tomb with nothing but her moribund musings for company. Tucking Balzac’s _The Lily of the Valley_ under her arm for much better mental occupation later tonight, the librarian exited the building and headed right home… though the alluring temptation of ducking down Center Street for a strawberry phosphate continued to beckon.

But as Marian approached the town green, all thoughts of sweet confections, cool baths, and even the scintillating wit of Balzac were knocked right out of her head by the strange commotion she witnessed. A dapperly dressed man she’d never seen before was perched proudly upon Uncle Maddy’s statue – an appalling sacrilege, to her mind – and he was regarding the buzzing crowd with avid eyes and a manic grin, as if he’d just finished some grandiose and bombastic declamation.

Once upon a time, the librarian would have been intrigued by this unusual tableau – excited, even. River City didn’t see many strangers, let alone swarm eagerly around them when they came to town. But as the librarian knew all too well from the history she’d learned from her books, frenzied crowds presented a real danger to outcasts like her. While she was admittedly curious as to what this man said to cause such a tumult, the wisest course of action would be to give the entire gathering a wide berth and continue on home. Wearing her frostiest and most disinterested expression, the librarian resolutely marched by the proceedings.

Still, Marian couldn’t help observing what was rattling the River City-ziens, even though she assiduously pretended not to notice as she passed. Amidst the fervent, murmured chants of “Trouble! Trouble! Trouble!” she overheard these gems:

“We’d better confiscate Linus’s pocket money before he fritters away any more of it on this Captain Whizbang trash!”

“The words _swell_ and _so’s your old man_ will never be uttered in this household, do I make myself clear?”

“I’m not about to let my Lucinda go about with any pinch-back wearin’, horse-race gamblin’, pool-hall loafin’ boy, no sir!”

“We’re going right home and checking the corn crib, make sure Davey hasn’t hidden any novels we don’t approve of!”

While Marian was far too practiced in keeping a poised expression to reveal so much as a frown she didn’t expressly authorize for public display, this last statement deeply irked her. Leaving aside the abysmal fact that it ended in a preposition, it reminded her too much of Mrs. Shinn’s sanctimonious harangue against the _Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám_ for comfort. This was exactly the kind of outraged zealotry that led to witch hunts in days of yore. Would they be burning books on the town green, next?

Tucking her precious Balzac carefully into her coat, the librarian picked up her pace. Who was this man, and why had he come to this particular town to stir up such trouble? The River City-ziens’ minds were already closed tightly enough, and he’d succeeded in closing them even further with his imprudent and inflammatory rhetoric. To what end and purpose had he fomented this upheaval? Perhaps he was an itinerant preacher, looking to spark a religious awakening among the townspeople. While Marian was a devout Christian, she was not fond of outright fanaticism, as it meant that her library would become even more of an object of suspicion.

If only she could have intervened. But she knew that even though the most superstitious rube dismissed the notion of witchcraft nowadays, a feminine pariah could never talk sense into a mob of riled up farmers, as she would merely be making herself into a lightning rod for all manner of animosity. This man was therefore a threat to her security, and she enormously resented his intrusion into her quotidian existence. Life in River City was hard enough already. She didn’t need any additional trouble!

Yet trouble continued to dog her footsteps – quite literally. As Marian neared West Elm, she became conscious that the dapperly dressed stranger was not only following her, but rapidly narrowing the distance between them. This, too, she pretended not to notice, even as her heart began to race – not with anticipation, but alarm bordering on terror. The librarian didn’t want and couldn’t afford this kind of attention, not from a magnetic man who knew how to draw a crowd and bend it to his will.

When the stranger boldly stepped right in front of her and doffed his hat, Marian steeled her will and met his eager inquiring gaze with the most repellent glare she could muster. Their eyes locked for only a moment, but the moment they did, her stomach turned over. Though it certainly wasn’t a sensation she was unfamiliar with, there something unusually unsettling about this kind of roiling. It was somehow different – and far more disturbing – than anything she’d ever felt before. There was no escaping the fact that with his smartly coiffed waves, stylishly cut suit, twinkling eyes, and winning grin, this stranger was easy on the eyes. _Too_ easy – and he clearly knew it, from the audacity with which he was pursuing her.

Still, thanks to her long practice in dissuading mashers and her many years of dance lessons as a girl, Marian dodged the man without a break in her frown or her measured stride.

Outrageously, he was not deterred. Pulling out the gaudiest pink lace handkerchief she’d ever seen, he caught up and tried a second time. “Did you drop your… ”

“No,” she said firmly, avoiding him just as decidedly as she had the first time.

His hand was suddenly on her arm, making her stomach flip-flop again. “Didn’t I meet you in… ”

“No!” she said in a tone that was as severe as she could manage without shouting. Fortunately, she had passed her front gate by now, and he wasn’t likely to follow her all the way up to her door. Even this most foolhardy of men seemed inclined on maintaining a veneer of honorable gentility in the midst of his brazen advances, so he wouldn’t dare breach the boundaries of a woman’s private property without invitation. And she had given him absolutely no encouragement in word, deed, or even expression.

Of course, this didn’t stop him from making one final attempt as she opened her front door. “I’ll only be in town a short while!”

Daringly, Marian turned around and faced the stranger again. Though she tingled from head to toe when she got a full look at her would-be suitor for the first time – to her chagrin, he was indeed the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life – she didn’t falter.

“Good!” she pronounced, before shutting him out of her life permanently.

However, she barely had time to recollect her wits before she was assailed from a new quarter.

“Well, it’s about time you got home! I kept your supper nice and warm, dear,” Mrs. Paroo called to her daughter.

The librarian repressed a sigh. “I’m not hungry, Mama.” And in truth, she couldn’t bring herself to eat another bite today. Not only because was rather full from the substantive lunch, her stomach was still roiling from that most unnerving of encounters.

A small mother’s frown crossed Mrs. Paroo’s face. “Oh now, don’t be silly, me girl! I made nice breaded pork chops and fresh applesauce and even baked a huckleberry – ”

They were interrupted by a discordant C sharp: Amaryllis had reached the wrong note again. As her mother went to correct it, Marian retreated to her room, removed her hat and coat, and placed her purse and book on her vanity. Assessing her reflection in the mirror, she patted her chignon into place and prepared herself to bear Amaryllis’s tactlessness, Winthrop’s silence, and her mother’s scrutiny.

XXX

Much later that night, when the librarian had fulfilled all of her teaching and familial obligations and was finally able to be alone in her tower, she opened _The Lily of the Valley_ and attempted to lose herself in it. But her mind stubbornly refused to cooperate – all she could hear were the words from the day ringing in her ears.

_“You keep your dirty books away from my daughter!”_

_“When a woman has a husband and you have none, why should she take advice from you?”_

_“Never – I’ll end up an old maid, just like you!”_

These stinging personal remarks, Marian could endure. (Indeed, she had no choice.) What she could not tolerate was the resounding jolt she felt deep in the pit of her stomach whenever she remembered that stranger. Why should she be subject to _those_ kinds of feelings? It simply wasn’t fair. More than that, it was cruel. If she was destined to be a spinster, Providence should at least have had the mercy to spare her from such acute longing for companionship and love.

But as Proverbs warned, the heart of fools proclaimed folly. Marian had spent so many wasted hours dreaming of a dashing stranger coming to town and sweeping her off of her feet. In recompense, she was sent an insulting mockery of her cherished white knight: a philandering itinerant preacher that would callously damage her reputation even further were she to fraternize with him. Could there be any clearer warning that her dreams would only lead to ruin? After all, those were only the kinds of men who still wandered from place to place nowadays.

And yet... somehow it seemed even crueler to be denied the luxury of seeking solace in her private imaginings.

If only there was someone in River City who could have made her a suitable companion. But the average River City-zien’s bailiwick was farming, and while Marian held a healthy respect for the cycles of nature and stocked several almanacs and agricultural tracts in her library, her bookish disposition and preference for the comforts of town living made her an exceedingly poor candidate for farmer’s wife. As Mama had pointed out, this stranger was probably her only chance for romance. And what a poor “chance” it was – she wasn’t about to fall for some confidence man’s slick sales pitch, no matter how handsome he was. Even if she was interested – which she most certainly was _not_ – it was highly unlikely that she’d ever see him again.

As Marian reflected on a life without even the comfort of dreams to bear her up in her loneliness, her hands trembled, her mouth contorted into an agonized grimace, and tears started pouring down her cheeks. She no longer tried to stop them from coming. What was the point of pretending any longer? If she was not allowed to have dreams, she would permit herself tears – she needed _some_ release. So she closed her Balzac book, put it aside, and indulged in a good, solid cry.

Tomorrow would be too busy for tears, as it was Independence Day. Even she was expected to participate in the community events surrounding this patriotic holiday, given that she was the only one who knew how to play the piano with sufficient proficiency. Tomorrow, she would hold her head up as proudly among the River City-ziens as she ever did.

Tonight, alone in her spinster bed, she would cry as many tears as she pleased. And she would do this for as many nights as it took to grieve the loss of her white knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Paroo’s admonition that she’d kept Marian’s supper warm up to Amaryllis reaching the wrong note was partially excerpted from page 29 of Meredith Willson’s Music Man novelization. Marian’s ruminations were also inspired by his passages describing the lonely monotony of her life on page 27.


End file.
